


I walked with you once

by qwanderer



Series: in the habit of saving the world [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Fluff, Genderfluid Crowley, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24884428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwanderer/pseuds/qwanderer
Summary: Five times people think Crowley and Aziraphale are married when they're not and one time they are!
Relationships: Adam Young/Jeremy Wensleydale, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: in the habit of saving the world [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1506125
Comments: 18
Kudos: 221
Collections: Break in Case of Emergency: Fluff and Love





	I walked with you once

**Author's Note:**

> I suppose you could read this as a standalone, but you'll probably get more out of it if you read the whole series. I mainly made this in order to touch on a lot of subjects in this universe in preparation for setting up the final fic.

####  **1.**

It was a beautiful day, and such things were rarer these days, now that Eden had been shut away, so all four beings who inhabited the Earth were out in the late afternoon sun, enjoying it. 

Adam and Eve sat side by side, and so did the other two, as it happened, an angel who was fussing over some grapes that he was afraid had gone off, and a demon, who was sniffing curiously at one of the discarded fruits.

The demon eventually popped the thing in their mouth and chewed thoughtfully before saying, “Not the worst thing I’ve ever tasted. Got an interesting bite to it, actually.”

“Has it?” asked the angel. “It doesn’t smell like a proper grape.”

“Nah, it’s an improper grape,” the demon said. “More my sort of thing, really.” They held the rest out to the angel. “Normally I don’t like rotting things as much as the rest of Them Downstairs, but this? This is different.”

The angel looked at the fruit dubiously before plucking one out of the demon’s hand and popping it in his mouth. He made a face, but kept chewing.

“I’m not sure,” he said then, and took another.

Eve had been watching them, and she approached then, greeting them.

“Rotten fruit?” offered the being with the eyes of the snake who had talked her into that apple.

“Maybe not,” she decided. “But I have a question.”

“Go on, then,” said the demon.

“There are four of us on the world,” she said, “and he and I have promised to take care of each other always. Are the two of you also promised to each other?"

The angel, who was now eating a fourth grape and nodding, said, “Ye - ” before he seemed to register Eve’s question, and correct himself to, “What! No! Absolutely not!”

“Make up your mind, angel! A demon could get the wrong idea!”

Aziraphale sputtered briefly, then narrowed his eyes. 

The serpent laughed, delighted. 

####  **2.**

Little Warlock watched curiously as Nanny Ashtoreth took Brother Francis’s hand and kissed it, making Brother Francis blush to the roots of his hair.

“Isn’t it men who usually kiss the hands of ladies?” Warlock asked Nanny.

“Yes, but it’s a silly rule,” Nanny answered brusquely, “and silly rules should be broken whenever possible.”

Aziraphale frowned, vaguely sure that he ought to be contradicting that statement, but unable to think of how.

“Are you married to Nanny?” Warlock asked Brother Francis.

“Why would you think that?” Brother Francis said, sputtering a bit. “We have completely incompatible perspectives!”

Warlock just blinked up at him and Aziraphale remembered who the child had for parents.

He sighed. “No, my dear. Neither of us is married.”

“So you could get married to each other, if you wanted?”

“Warlock, me boy,” Francis said in a bit of a scolding tone, “It’s not polite to ask so many questions about people’s romantic lives.”

“Hmm,” said Ashtoreth, “I suppose we could.” She raised her eyebrows at Francis. “If we wanted.” She kissed Warlock on the top of his head. “And never stop asking rude questions, sweet hellion.”

Aziraphale, whose blush hadn’t quite died down, felt it rise to full strength again at the thought of marrying Crowley.

####  **3.**

“Wicked!” Adam said as he saw what Crowley had made of the back garden. The walled bit immediately in back of the house was full of flowers and foliage of the reddest reds and the deepest, blackest purples, with here and there an accent of pale yellow or white. There was a big bench swing hanging from a sturdy old linden tree, and a table and chairs of wrought iron and weathered silver wood, and just enough of a grassy lawn for a boy and his friends and his dog to roll around on and play (or, incidentally, for an occult being and an ethereal one to spread their wings comfortably and enjoy the weather in their little outdoor refuge.) And beyond that, past a magnificent wrought-iron gate, was a somewhat dilapidated little barn, and an orchard.

As a seventeen-year-old boy, Adam seemed just as energetic and ready to be an agent of chaos as he had when he was eleven. That was, until Wensleydale came up beside him and interlaced their fingers. Then he was focused calmly and entirely on Wen.

"It really is amazing, Crowley," Wen agreed. “Did you do all this yourself?”

“Most of what’s inside the walls,” Crowley said proudly. 

The Them listened with interest as Crowley talked about his plants and everything he’d had to do to get them whipped into shape. He directed a few comments and questions at Aziraphale, who answered from his spot on the swing without even looking up from his book. 

The group of them had been getting together in the bookshop up until now, since it was still Aziraphale’s place, even though the cottage had become home and Newt was now the manager of the shop, with two part-time employees under him. It wasn’t too terribly hard to get to London from Tadfield via transit. But Adam had just gotten his driver’s license, so the Them had come to visit the cottage this weekend, instead.

For dinner they went to Aziraphale and Crowley’s favorite local restaurant, where the two of them were now firmly established as regulars. 

“Well, now, who’s this?” the waitress asked, as she saw the Them.

“Our godson Adam and his friends,” Aziraphale said fondly, and went on to introduce the lot of them to her. 

“Godson, eh?” she said thoughtfully. “So you are married! I’ve been wondering.”

“Well,” said Crowley, wincing a bit. “Eehhh.”

“Technically, no,” Aziraphale admitted. 

“Oh dear, I’m sorry if I’ve hit on a sore subject,” the waitress said. 

“Oh, it’s nothing like that!” Aziraphale assured her.

“Have I gone and put my foot in it, darlings?” she asked the kids, clearly not trusting Aziraphale’s overly-polite word on the subject.

“Actually,” said Wen, “I’m not sure how much of a difference it would make if they  _ were _ officially married.”

“Yeah, they’re kind of  _ really married,”  _ Adam said, “only I don’t know if _ they _ know it.”

“Well,  _ that’s _ the pot calling the kettle black,” Pepper said archly.

Adam tilted his head to one side briefly before the implication of that registered, and his eyes widened.

Wensleydale covered his face with his hands

“Oh, are the two of you an item?” Aziraphale asked brightly, with the careful emphasis on the last word of someone who is pretty sure they have the right slang term but has never actually used it before.

“They’re made for each other,” Brian opined. “No other way to put it, really.”

“Adam stops Wensleydale from being incredibly boring and a workaholic,” Pepper told them bluntly, “and Wensleydale stops Adam from being… well… the Antichrist.”

Crowley smirked at that, and Aziraphale chuckled. 

Weekends with the Them visiting the cottage certainly promised to be entertaining.

####  **4.**

The bookshop was a little more regular about opening these days, and it had all kinds of interesting things going on in it. A lot of local college kids had study sessions there, especially history and philosophy students, but also just queer kids who needed a welcoming space. 

Newt had gotten adept at knowing which books Aziraphale wouldn’t mind him selling, and at acquiring new stock with the use of a pencil and paper, Aziraphale’s antique telephone, and an array of contacts selling both new and used books. 

Anathema had spent time at the shop, just incidentally at first, because Newt worked there and because Aziraphale was becoming a good friend. But slowly she had been getting to know Aziraphale’s occult collection, and stretching and building her own talent for magic, rather than leaning on Agnes’s talent. 

She’d been building a network of potential witches, not quite a coven, at least not yet, but people who had the spark and the interest and who might prove to be good to have around. 

She’d only just recently managed to convince Tracy to meet her and talk about possibly building the medium’s talent. 

Tracy and Anathema currently had their heads bent together over a spellbook in a sunny corner of the shop. Shadwell had insisted on tagging along, to protect his wife from whatever shady characters might be inhabiting the shop.

Newt had met him at the door with a stern “No scissors in the book shop!” 

Shadwell raised his hands in surrender. “Aye,” he agreed. “No cuttin’ out the interestin’ bits.”

It certainly changed that dynamic that Newt had grown into himself and felt like he had a job he could do well here. 

Shadwell was, on the whole, a much more pleasant person now that he was retired from the Witchfinder life and being kept in line by his very own witch. Currently, he and Aziraphale were deep in conversation about mid-century British music.

Aziraphale had recently delved deeply into the subject of modern music - he did that once in a while, developed an interest in a subject he’d been studiously ignoring and inhaled the whole of what he’d missed in one weeks-long session of study. 

It helped that he’d been corresponding with Pepper, of course. One almost couldn’t help picking up some knowledge, hanging around that girl. 

How quickly Crowley went from "learn the blessed words for modern music genres, will you?" to "please stop saying the word 'skiffle'."

"I like words!" Aziraphale objected. “Now that I know what they mean, I would like to use them accurately.”

The angel really was hopelessly uncool, and Crowley loved him.

Once the witches' meeting was over, Tracy came over to the front of the shop to collect her husband.

She patted Aziraphale on the shoulder, and said, "It's good to see you. We don't see each other often enough, dear." She pursed her lips and continued, "You came to our wedding, and I saw you at Anathema's, so I'm a bit disappointed I never got an invitation to yours." 

"Ah," said Aziraphale. "Well. About that."

"You're not married yet?” Tracy teased jovially. “How many years have you had that cottage now?"

“We  _ have _ discussed it,” Aziraphale said. “In the abstract. It’s something we intend to do. At some point.”

“Well,” Tracy told him, “any time before we shuffle off this mortal coil would be lovely.”

“Strange, innit?” Shadwell said, eyeing the pair of them. “An angel and a demon, livin’ in sin!”

“Now, dear!” Tracy said, swatting him on the arm. “I’m sure that’s none of our business. But if they were, I wouldn’t blame them at all.”

She winked at Aziraphale, who had gone red.

####  **5.**

Crowley’s painting wasn’t something they pursued as more than a hobby, generally speaking, but apparently a lot of humans actually really liked their art. They liked putting on art shows, for one thing because there were so many opportunities for making trouble and evoking emotions in people, like jealousy, lust, the whole gamut of sin, really.

They’d put their first portrait of Aziraphale in pride of place in this show for that very reason - because who wouldn’t covet the magnificent thing? But the viewing public couldn’t have it. Most of their paintings were for sale for horribly large sums of money (which helped with the greed), but this one was not available.

Some people took this news better than others. There had been quite a few tantrums over it. Crowley was always curious to see how people would react when they told them.

This time, it was a woman with a long salt-and-pepper braid running down her back who’d asked about the price.

“The portrait isn’t for sale,” they said. “I made it for my partner.”

“Oh, of course!” she responded, grinning. “I should have known from how lovingly it’s painted. How long have you been married?”

Crowley shrugged. "Well. We really should get 'round to that."

They liked both kinds of responses pretty well. Inspiring chaos in human hearts was fun, but people who responded this way made them feel as if they were glowing.

Aziraphale, who’d been on his way back from the table of hors d'oeuvres, settled in beside them as the woman moved on to the next painting.

“I do prefer when people can be mature and generous about your work,” he said. “Although I must admit I relate to being unreasonably attached to that particular piece.”

“Well, it’s yours for good,” Crowley assured him. “‘Til the end of time.”

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully in response, and then he opened his mouth to ask, "What you said… when she asked about us…"

"Yes?"

"Did you mean it?" Aziraphale asked, some unreadable emotion in his eyes.

Crowley ran their tongue over their front teeth while they thought about how to reply to that. "I don’t want to rush you," they said at last.

Aziraphale took Crowley's hands in his own and raised them to his mouth to kiss them. "My dear," he said, "I hardly think this is rushing anything."

A warmth spread through Crowley, from the place where Aziraphale had kissed their fingers, coming to rest in their chest. 

"Let's get married, angel," they said.

"That sounds lovely," said Aziraphale. "Yes, let's."

####  **+1**

Planning the wedding of two immortal beings with distinctly different aesthetics proved… interesting. But thankfully, they had a lot of people to help them figure it all out. Tracy and Jess helped a lot with things like invitations and decorations. Crowley, of course, ceded all catering decisions to Aziraphale, except where they involved alcohol.

They argued a lot about music. 

They agreed on two things, that there wasn’t going to be any religious music at the ceremony, and that their first dance would be to A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square, that lovely soft tune that had serenaded them as they dined at the Ritz on their first day of real freedom from their former sides, as it was all just beginning to sink in.

The rest was a horrendous clash of complaining about the other’s favorite genres, and vetoing almost every single thing the other mentioned. 

It was becoming a problem, until Warlock and Pepper decided that they were going to do the music, and Aziraphale and Crowley weren’t allowed to know what it was going to be. 

Both Aziraphale and Crowley worried about what the music was going to end up sounding like, but it all ended up rather magical. At the ceremony, Newt played guitar while Anathema sang love songs they knew from some of their kids’ favorite movies - Sleeping Beauty and Tangled, among others.

They said aloud promises they already knew by heart, and Crowley cried rather more than Aziraphale did, which surprised no one except Aziraphale.

Warlock, as their best man, made a short speech that started with, “So, how long have you been married?” which caused a wave of laughter in the room. 

Aziraphale looked at his pocket watch and proclaimed “Twenty minutes!” just as Crowley said, “oh, forever,” which had everyone laughing even harder. They leaned into each other and let themselves be buoyed by it.

They had their first dance and it was perfect, and then they found themselves in a whole crowd full of twenty-first century humans of all ages, doing the Gavotte as They Might Be Giants’  _ Birdhouse In Your Soul _ played.

They grinned at each other, Crowley in wicked fondness and Aziraphale in pure delight, and they joined in.

A bit later, Adam and Wen were dancing cheek to cheek, and Adam asked, “Should we have one like this?”

“This is just a little big for us, actually,” Wensleydale replied thoughtfully. “Don't you think?”

Adam looked at him in awe. “Yeah, we'd get distracted. All I want to be thinking about is you.”

Aziraphale sighed happily, not able to help overhearing them as the whole exchange had come with a wave of love so strong his attention had snapped to them immediately. “Ah, young love,” he murmured.

“Angel,” Crowley said, “you’re not allowed to get wistful about that.  _ We’re _ newlyweds.”

“Newlyweds,” Aziraphale repeated with a sublime little smile. “I do like the sound of that.”

They danced on into the wee hours of the morning, and the playlist on Warlock’s computer eventually ran out, leaving them with the sounds of birds outside chattering in the pre-dawn light. 

“It sounds like Eden,” Aziraphale commented as they continued to sway.

“I loved you then,” Crowley said, lips brushing Aziraphale’s cheek. “I remember the feeling.”

“All these years,” Aziraphale asked in wonder. “You’ve felt this way? Just like this?”

“Nah,” Crowley said, kissing Aziraphale’s nose. “More every day. My angel.”


End file.
